It is hard to be calm and graceful when you are faced with a hero.
It’s doubly hard to be cool and elegant when that hero is the man whose presence is so magnetic that you cannot actually string a sentence together in front of him. Professional god, personal Achilles’ Heel.
I hate to break it to you and I know it will come up as a shock but I am not a cool person. In my mind’s eye, I am buxom, wanton and a bit Moll Flanders c. Alex Kingston.
In reality, however, I am plump, gauche and ricochet from being a bit Wife of Bath to a bit of an overly-analytical, should-get-out-more, wannabe blue stocking.
Self-knowledge is a powerful thing and if I know one thing, I know this: however much I try, grace, elegance and cool are alien concepts to me.
So back to the man so dazzling that the first time I met him in a lift, he smiled at me, asked me where I was going and I completely forgot what floor my office was on.
I always knew there was a risk in going into a meeting held near his desk. Would I be able to hold it together and sound cool, professional and confident? Well I was doing pretty well until he walked into the room and I realised he would have to walk right by me to get to his seat.
There was I trying to hold it together, as he picked his way through our huddle.
And then I heard myself saying…
“And of course there is the wiki, which has lots of breast practise guidelines on it”
[Addendum: Unfortunately in between writing and posting this, it actually got worse. It was pointed out to me he was standing right by me in the bar. Over the next half an hour, I blushed a semi-permanent raspberry, spilt sour cream down my shirt and failed to be the confident, alluring creature of my dreams. Oh well. As a good friend once advised me: “NEXT!”]